The Awoken sat in orbit above Skuberrima, floating serenely in the dark abyss of the ceaseless void.

“You seem troubled, my dear.” Euromulus Krynne called out to Laverna, from his throne of lavish cushions.

“Just a little...apprehensive,” she told him, moving slowly towards the cluster of pillows and sofas where Krynne was sat, sipping from a snifter full of dark yellow Raenka.

“You’re worried about our impending guests?” the merchant asked Laverna, making no attempt to mask the way his greedy eyes drank her in, just as he guzzled the Raenka in his glass.

“Aren’t you?” Laverna sat down on a sette, opposite Krynne. She relaxed her posture, resting her back against the silky cushions.

Part of Krynne’s larger fleet, the Awoken was a modified Iconoclast Destroyer, which had been fitted with an opulent lounge, where the pair were waiting to receive the killers and mercenaries who would soon form their warband.

Heavily armed pirates, wearing gleaming silver masks, stood sentinel in the corners of the lounge. They gripped lasguns in their gauntlet-clad hands, and wore body armour beneath multi-coloured shawls.

Then there was Krynne’s servants.

The rabble of slaves were dotted about the lounge, waiting to tend to whatever inclinations the merchant demanded be satiated. Some were visibly men, some markedly women, whereas others sat indistinguishably on the spectrum between femininity and masculinity.

Laverna’s eyes rested on a lumbering abhuman, with mottled grey flesh, covered in cloying bumps and bulges. The mutant carried a tray in its shaky, unsettled grip, which bore a bottle of Vlod.

“Mutual benefit will keep them in-check,” Krynne assured her “and I am quite confident in the capabilities of my crew, should enmity get in the way of a peaceful meeting.”

She couldn't help but wonder if Krynne had forgotten that they were expecting rogue astartes, amongst others.

“The gauntlet is what matters, Sweetling,” the merchant told her, in his usual leering tone “once we have that in our grasp, I will shower you in all the Cursewine that your pretty little heart can take.”

Laverna cracked her knuckles, nonchalantly draping one arm over the side of the sette.

“Just point me in the right direction,” she told Krynne “I’ll get you the gauntlet...even if we have to set Skuberrima on fire.”

The plague ridden Ogryn had been on the ship for days having crashed into it before aboard his small shuttle spinning through the warp. The shuttle had not driven deep into the ship and done inconsequential damage. He wandered and eventually found the engineering section where slaves and mutants drove the engines, the engineering section was filthy and the crew such as it was were as well. Ga'Duk and his beast took residence is a compartment near engineering. He, and his beast preyed on the gibbering slaves working in engineering though the losses where unimportant, as the insane cultists would die through various means regardless. His daemon was oddly silent through this endeavor seemingly waiting for something to change.

The daemon and the beast felt the transition into real space though Ga'duk hardly noticed and cared even less. As the ship flew to its new orbit around Skuberrima the pair grew restless, killing more of the mutants and cultists aboard the ship to the point that the task masters began to grow curious about the disappearances. However before they could muster the courage to call in a security team or raise their concerns with their mistress Ga'duk decided to leave at the urging of the daemon in his skull.

'Its time Ogryn, to meet your new boss' said Viron into his mind even as the conversation in Krynne's lounge took place. "New boss? What new boss Vron?" replied Ga'duk out loud to the daemon in his mind, he hadn't had a boss really since he was sent to that space hulk years ago though the prospect eased his troubled mind, all this thinking for himself was exhausting. 'Yes, Grandfather Nurgle needs someone to balance the forces here and you my brute are his token on the field.' explains the daemon.

"... what?" says the Ogryn stopping to puzzle out the daemons words. 'Nurgle needs you to work for the new boss here' dumbing down whats happening for the Ogryn "Mmmmm ok. I works for Da Papa Nurgle, sos i works for da new boss" he says nodding. "GOBBLES! WE GOTS A NEW BOSS" the Ogryn bellows calling his partner so the pair can go to meet this new boss. The Beast charges the Ogyrn in their ritual of greeting, tackling the brute to the ground so he can get up and drag the monstrosity with him. Ga'duk grabs the chain wrapped around the creature's neck as a leash and goes off to find this new boss at the direction of the daemon.

He wanders the ship for a couple of hours getting lost several times as he didn't really understand the daemon's directions most of the time but eventually finds the rich lounge he was slowly being led to. The Ogryn stomps into the lounge looking obscenely out of place compared to the opulent surroundings, His grossly bloated and disease marred flesh making him look like a foul parody of humanity. Rusted and rent armor hanging off of him in tattered scraps exposing life threatening wounds where maggots crawl feasting off his putrid flesh. A rusted and pitted battleaxe scrapes the floor as he drags it along with him, sparks and flakes of rust forming where it scratches the floor. His beast is no less foul, a huge slug like monster just as putrid and bloated as its master drags itself along behind Ga'duk a mass of tentacles questing out searching for someone or something to play with.

The Ogryn stands in a rapidly growing clearing as everyone tries to get away from the pair disgusted by their very aspect. Ga'duk stares at the throne, his face hidden by a helm coated in rust. Unfortunately he doesn't seem to know what to do or say next because he is supposed to be the one getting orders not socializing. The daemon however breaks the awkward tension speaking through Ga'duk. The holes in his helm glow a sickly green as the daemon speaks "Euromulus Krynne, The forces of Decay send this humble servant to aid you in your quest." Before anyone has a chance to react or reply the Beast of Nurgle throws itself at a cowering group of slaves and Ga'duk strains against the chain using every ounce of his immense strength to keep the beast from devouring Krynne's servants.

The Ogryn shouts and scolds the putrid beast as if it where a disobedient puppy "NO! Gobbles. Gobbles! You stop! GOBBLES!" After the tirade and the beast settling down looking rather sullen that it couldn't play with these new people Ga'duk looks towards Euromulus Krynne "Uh, What do now Boss?"

The Brothers Castigus and Laszlo were fairly recent arrivals to the world of Skuberrima. They had come after a recent failed engagement in the Black Legion's name forced them to hijack a ship and after some toying with the Captain they ascertained the location of the pirate colony. Knowing the crew formerly serving the two under duress would be vengeful the moment they were free of their shackles the two Marines left quickly leaving no trace of themselves on the ship save a few crewmen missing. Had they even been aboard? Perhaps it was void-sickness of some sort, being too long in space and the warp did nasty things to one's memory....

It did not take either of them very long to learn the things the Captain of their previous vessel skipped when telling the two Marines about Skuberrima, and they very soon learned of a certain Eromulus Krynne. He was on a quest to find artifacts at the very heart of the planet which Laszlo knew he could make better use of. But he also knew he wouldn't get to them himself, and so he'd swallow his pride and go with Castigus to take this as a job. They were for the moment without friends, funds, or time. Thus they quickly made contact with the Pirate Lord and informed him that they would be promptly joining his warband.

But though they took this job they did much research. The asked about him, gaining information to make sure this wasn't the sort of man to double or triple cross the Astartes. They needed to make sure that the man was sane and competent, rather than one that would send them to their deaths in a giggling fit.

Eromulus Krynne proved at least vaguely trustworthy, however. His reputation wasn't impeccable, but in the realm of Chaos such was impossible. The Brothers would have to watch their backs of course but they didn't have to keep a blade drawn at all times.

Time to meet their employer was approaching, and as was the nature of both Legionnaires they came aboard unseen, unknown. Not a single crewman would witness the arrival of the Marines, the few who came close would be given a tap on the head for a nap. Prowling through the ship they made sure they found out the layout of it, learned all they could of it lest they might need the upper hand upon the merchant. It was... interesting to find out that clearly a servant of Nurgle had occupied a part of the ship, evidence of his victims present left and right.

But they couldn't linger trying to find secrets of the ship, at least not yet. They went to the lounge where they were to meet the pirate Lord but they maintained secrecy. They went inside, still sticking to the shadows and moving right by the guards. It was quite the motley crew assembled. They were individuals of varying abilities, shapes, sizes and of course competencies. Forth came the apparent Nurglite fellow, whom they listened to. He finished his speech with a question and before it could be answered Laszlo stepped forward from the shadows behind two of the heavily armed Guards. Where did he come from? How did he hide the damn brightly glowing eyes of his helmet in the shadows, surely one would be able to see the two big green flares? The Space Marine did not give a chance for these questions appearing in everyone's head to be properly pondered, speaking up. "Brother Laszlo - Black Legion - at your service." he introduced himself, having painted his armour black beforehand but making sure he did not use any of their heraldry. The looked to Castigus, letting the monstrous Night Lord introduce himself.

Princess Natalia Perwinkle the Purple boasted no such fleet as Euromulus Krynne, a fact that she had every intention of rectifying in the immediate future. And so her arrival into the system was a single Iconoclast Destroyer, The Flawless Kaleidoscope, pulling into orbit at a nonthreatening distance from his ship. Natalia was no fool. The ship remained prepared to make a getaway if necessary. But Natalia had quickly bored herself with raids on poorly defended merchant ships. She wanted a taste of real glory. And so she intended to hear out this merchant on his opportunity.

Natalia ignored the sounds of her sycophantic "court" on the bridge, vying for her attention through shows of opulence and dedication. By Slaanesh, her first officer Jenkins had shot such a poor wretch in the middle of such a declaration for some percieved slight that Natalia hadn't even noticed. She liked Jenkins. For now. She might kill him later, wasn't quite sure. But for once, her focus was not on the madness of her crew. It was on the planet below, almost entranced. She found the bright color of the atmosphere at once beautiful and terrible. A jewel amongst the stars that had been host to opulence and death; wealth and piracy.

This meeting would be no coincidence. It was here. Here her legend would truly be birthed.

At once compelled to begin, she raised and fired her bolt pistol straight into the air, drawing the attention of every crew member in the room not otherwise engaged. "Prepare my entourage and shuttle. Announce my coming. With propriety, this time if you please, Astropath. I hear good things about this Krynne. If you do not show him the proper deference I shall present you to him as a gift to torment as he sees fit."

Natalia prepared herself for the coming meeting, her servants fitting her into her specially designed armor. While funtionally carapace, the armor had been decorated and adorned to almost seem like she wore a deep indigo gemstone as her armor. Stepping onto her personal shuttle with a small group of bodyguards, and a much larger procession of heralds dug up from the wretches of the lower decks, she began to take off while her own ship broadcasted to Krynne's ship.

To the glorious, pristine, and most generous Euromulus Krynne of The Awoken. Her lady, Princess Natalia Perwinkle the Purple, requests the honor and privilege to board your vessel to discuss your concern of a most mutually beneficial business proposition.

Before the Night Lord could speak, the doors to the audience chamber swung open and something even larger than either Astartes entered with heavy footfalls.

It was another Ogryn, though it was immediately obvious at first glance that this one followed a different god entirely. There was no putrid and bloated belly, no noxious clouds of gas or the reek of decay. This one smelled of blood and steel and the light glinted dangerously on the tips of his proud horns.

"BLOOD! SKULLS!" Gharl yelled, for Gharl was his name, and he punched the air with his ripper gun. It made for a poor greeting but it was all he knew. His vast and muscular form was clad in monstrously thick carapace armor and he was armed with the aforementioned Ogryn-proof weapon, but otherwise the creature appeared to have no other belongings.

His gaze swept around the room, flickering from the important-looking Astartes to the equally important-looking man and woman on the couch, and he scratched his head. "Boss?" Gharl asked, but he was distracted by the other Ogryn in the room almost immediately -- and, more importantly, by its fleshy, disgusting, odious pet.

"Cute," Gharl decided.

The hard heels of Jake's boots struck against the cold metal floors of The Awoken as he marched through it's labyrinthine hallways.  Unlike the The Maiden's Shadow; a much smaller ship within Krynne's fleet, which he'd been working as security on, the amount of passages twisting throughout the ship's vast interior seemed almost countless. Despite the summons he'd received, Jake never even met Krynne himself, as he was an employee of Zek Odessian; Captain of The Maiden's Shadow, thus making him an underling of Krynne by proxy.  However, it still struck him as rather odd that such a man so high above him would summon him for a meeting, let alone know his name, perhaps Odessian had recommended him for some form of promotion.... Or perhaps an execution.

However, before he could venture further into his ponderings, a wretched smell reached his nose.

The moldering chunks of a half eaten corpse littered the hallway, its rank, wet, stench violated Jake's nostrils without fail, nearly causing the man to retch. From his tailcoat, Jake immediately procured a small, travel size humidor. though it was tinted a slight red in some spots; mementos from when it had been 'liberated' from its last owner, the box was otherwise in pristine shape. From this wooden container came a thick cigar which he wasted no time in lighting. The dull orange glow of the cigar's burning tip pressed against his features as he took a long drag; the robust scent of tobacco making the stench just barely tolerable. From what Jake could tell, whatever had done this couldn't be too far from here if the less-than-subtle (and noticeably fresh) trail of pestilent slime trailing through the corridor was anything to go by. Normally, he would've just informed the ship's security team, but hunting down something killing personnel sounded like a much better reason to be late than being outright fucking lost aboard the massive vessel.

Taking great care not to step in the thick sludge or get any on him, Jake followed the creature's trail, as it eventually led him to a large ornate door, seemingly the entrance to a private lounge of some kind. The thought of what a group of Slaanesh devotees might intend on doing with a clearly wet and slimy creature; despite its smell, twisted Jake's face into a grimace as a shiver went down his spine. Granted, he'd heard about Slaaneshi cultists partaking in grand acts of sexual depravity before, including one rumor of a group of planetary governors filling the water supplies of hive citys with enough chems flip the mating preferences of Catachan Barking Toads. He didn't like that in the least.

Ready to take action in the event that this wasn't part of some strange fetishistic act, the wrangler cautiously opened the door, carefully surveying all that lie before him as his cold eyes swept over the room. Numerous large forms filled the chamber; a rotting ogryn with many festering wounds, an even larger crimson figure with horns jutting out its head, and the dark, yet unmistakable armored forms of astartes. At center stage within the room, was none other than Krynne himself; who seemingly had the situation under control. This was clearly the place he was supposed to be. Though unnerved and intimidated to a degree by the size and power of the other individuals in the room, Jake held his poker face strong. With long, calm, deliberate strides he positioned himself noticeably out of weapons' reach of the other larger individuals gathered for this meeting. Facing towards Krynne, Jake held his hat to his chest in his right hand, a warm smile forming on his lips; such that one would typically use when greeting an old friend, as he made a deep bow. "Mister Krynne--" he spoke, his voice deep and coarse, yet his accent carried a sort of charm with it, of welcome and comfort as words flowed like honey, "Jacob Elijah Moore, at your service sir."

Placing his chapeau back in its proper place atop his head, he softly crossed his arms as he spoke once more, "You wanted to see me boss?"

The journey had been a longer one than Castigus could rightly stand. It had almost driven him mad with how little his skills had been used. No practice cages, no hunts, no screaming pounding combat stims flooding his veins as he swooped down on terrified prey only to rip them to bloody bits and vanish into the darkness. It was the Alpha Legionnaires fault, though he had to give his brother credit. It had worked. No one had noticed them come and go. He was unused to using stealth in such a fashion. For the Nightlords it was a prelude, the soft sickly notes of a song which would end it bloody screaming crescendos. For Laszlo it was the heart of the song, the nature of the prowl. To be unseen, unheard, undetected, and for only the remnants of one's acts to be found. If that. It was not unlike the teachings of his father the Nighthaunter. With the exception of the fact that one could never really tell if it had been the Alpha Legion. When it came to the Nightlord’s campaigns, the enemy always knew what howled in the night and road on the wind. Let ten thousand howls promise ten thousand claws. The Night Lords are coming. And no soul that stands against us shall see another dawn. The words of Malcharion’s work resounded in his head.

Laszlo stepped from the shadows of the room snapping Castigus back to the present. It was so brazen and forthright. The silence was meant for him to announce his own presence but the moment went on for a second before the doors were slammed open. Still wreathed in the shadows at the corner of the room Castigus’ blade went from its sheath to his hand faster than any mortal or most augmetic eye could track. It was a liquid motion honed over centuries of war. Instantly his helmet’s display flashed several dozen threat ruins into existence in a dizzy flood of information. The Ogryn if that is what it was that crashed into the room was waving a ripper pistol. It was a huge brutish thing clearly warped by the effects of chaos. The rampant mutations alone were enough for Castigus to want to tear its head from its shoulders. His vox grill clicked as he breathed within his helm “Preysight” Instantly his visual field flicked to a mass of heat signatures as his right hand primed the blackout grenade on his tactical webbing. The movements were short and controlled but when the Ogryn finally came to a halt and nothing more happened he could feel his muscles itch. The spirit of his power armor had flooded him with a wash of combat stims and they were now going to waste. Pity. Clearly this was just another member of a warband of mutants, mortals, and bottomfeeder scum. As the newest mortal finished his question Castigus audibly clicked the Legion Combat Knife back into its sheath at his hip. The noise ominous in the room though he doubted many of the things in the room were either intelligent enough to feel appropriate fear or had ever even encountered one of his kind. They were an increasingly rare breed within the eye. Relaxing his grip on the blackout grenade he released the primer. Relaxing back into a casually ready stance.

As far as he was concerned they had gone “In Midnight Clad” There was no reason for him to speak more than a single phrase. The words were heavy accented low gothic. He was Nostoman born and the universal language had never really lost of the lingering effects of the fact that his Legion spoke almost exclusively Nostoman.

“Castigus, of the Night Lords.” Unlike Laszlo, his armor remained the dark blue color of midnight and brass. The bastard legion held no appeal for him. Though in truth he doubted Laszlo was doing anything more than sowing confusion and concealing his true nature. Such were the Alpha Legion. The Night Lord didn’t leave the shadows, it was less a matter of being ominous than it was the fact that even the dimmest lit sections of this ship were far brighter than even the Twilight decks, which housed legion serfs, of a Night Lord cruiser. The light was distasteful and without his helmet, it would have been painful.

How did a minor politican with campaign funds of less than a labourer could earn in a month manage to arrive in orbit? The answer, as it was with most things, was because she hadn't acquired her little craft legitimately. Not even large enough to deserve its own name, Kotys' vehicle was the sort of shuttle normally owned by planetary govenors, used to go between their low-orbit mansions and their domains. Mouldering at the docks, it hadn't taken much convincing for her to get her hands on it and even less to get it repaired, the workmen repaid in the barter of Slaneesh... Or as it was better known, a lot of chems.

So it was that Kotys ascended towards The Awoken. In one hand she idly swirled a glass of double-distilled amasec, enjoying the pleasant burn as it slid down her throat, whilst the other twirled a most curious weapon. Although ostensibly looking to be a serrated sort of sword, a press of a button by the hilt would see it structure collapse into a long, thin whip, the length of which could be given a shocking treat to the poor soul unfortunate enough to be on the receiveing end of a blow from it.

She arrived without much ceremony. Her ship docked, its few crewmembers stayed aboard and she stepped off, the sheath for her blade revealing its third function, that being the fact that it was also a rather handy walking cane. So it was with her weapon softly clacking against the floor and her dress softly shimmering in the light that she would enter the meeting place, stifling a whistle as she did so.

She knew when she was amongst fine company... And among brutal company. The display here was rather staggering, from the pleasing sights of the various slaves dotted about, to the disgusting presence of a nurglite... And then the towering figures that dominated the place even more than their host did. Astartes. She massaged her neck slightly, easing down a particularly stubbon lump that had sprung up in her throat. She was in the presence of figures that could leave the room looking like an abbatoir without breaking a sweat.

Strictly speaking, she would pay homage to their benevolent invitor first... But she would rather indulge just a little bit before business sucked up all of her attention. One hand would trail along the back of a figure not quite male and not quite female, who would soon feel the chill of whispered air in their ear. Walking to the front of the room, still shooting the astartes (and to a lesser extent the ogryns) glances, the slaneeshi would offer a poor woman's cursty, standing up from it and tossing her cane from hand to hand.

"Lady Kotys, at your service. Might I say, a pleasure to meet the two of you."

It was cold, so very, very, cold. He had fought in such inhospitable conditions before, they all had, but the nights here froze even Astartes to death inside their armour. Ever since their arrival here is had been nothing but death after death, their own or their enemies, Minosian himself waking from a self-induced comatose state to find two of his brethren dead inside the ramshackle shelter they had constructed from the frigid night.

Slowly he checked his battered and worn armour, remains of blue and white paint still perceptable beneath the thick layer of grime and gore that showed it in the light to be red. It was armour he had worn from Bodt to the walls of the Imperial Palace itself, having never failed him yet, armour he would come to eventually shed himself of in the murky future, for the moment being the only thing that had kept him alive so far.

Groggily he ran his hands over it, over his helmet, his visor picking out his brothers corpses and his helmet the sound of heavy snowfall outside - these he blink-clicked away with a sigh, his blood already warming up in his veins, one large fist closing around the hilt of his chainaxe.

A sudden burst of shouting caused him to get to his feet, not as swiftly as he would have liked but he did so anyway, one finger always hovering over the activation-stud of his weapon as he drew back the tarp covering the doorway.

He could see nothing, but he could hear it... Shouts in the distance, the staggered spurt of flame from an unseen weapon, other voice rising protest and the clash of weapons.

How had the Third attacked so silently? No, they could not have, it was impossible even for them.

"Khârn, what are you doing?!" "You will die for this, Betrayer." "Gods curse you!"

Skalathrax they had called the planet, it was the end of his legion and the end of him as he had been known.

Inside a chamber aboard The Awoken, where he had been for the last several weeks, the twitching form of Minos Bull-Head sat bolt upright, his body lathered in sweat and the growl of the Nails eating once more at the back of his mind. They were always there after all, always.

Only on the eve of great enterprises - or in his own life of great acts of bloodshed - did such dreams of the past infect his transhuman 'sleep'; betrayals of himself and others, the faces of those he had massacred in the Blood Gods name, old comrades that by rights he should not be able to recall after so long and through so much as he had done.

"Khârn," he grunted through snouted teeth, rolling from the slab that served as his bed, his cloven feet hitting the floor with a thud, that one name spat from his twisted mouth with as much venom now as it ever had been at the time.

It was at that point, as he looked around the room and gave his shaggy head a shake, that he remembered precisely where he was and why - today he was to meet with his 'host' Euromulus Krynne, some sort of big meeting happening in his main lounge.

Minos wished to kill him, of course he did! He would have wished to even before he had sunk into the worship of Khorne as deeply as he had. The fool was a Slaaneshi devotee, as well as a blustering idiot, and had it not been for the promise of death and skulls in time to come - more than just his own and his crews - the corrupted World Eater may have dispatched him already.

As it was he was already moving to keep his date with destiny, his weapons held inactive in either hand, and his foetid breath rising from his mouth as he moved from corridor to corridor and hatch to hatch within the Iconoclast-class vessel.

When he entered the lounge at long last, having to step over and aside from some sort of rotting gruel lining the passage into the room, he could hardly believe his eyes... It was a circus of extreme proportions.

Maybe it was the scent of potential enemies worth killing, maybe it was his Astartes traning kicking in as it had so many times before, but the very first thing he did as he strode into the room on his oddly jointed legs was assess the threat level of every individual he could see.

A coterie of mortals, unaugmented and weak, two Ogryns of differing forms (one with a very ugly maggot, but what did one expect of Nurgle spawn?), and two Astartes. The first of these he noted had tried to appear as a member of the Black Legion, in the eyes of Minos at least he had failed, others may be fooled by the strangely plain black and brass but he was not. The second he could barely see, but had heard enough when entering to know not who but what stood in the shadows.

Minos did not even acknowledge his patron, moving to stand some distance away from any of the others - yet within striking range, should he need it - standing open-legged and tense as a length of taught wire, for this was the only way he could stand.

Enemies, some voice that was like his own but not his own reminded him, I need enemies.

Whilst the crew of the Awakened gave Natalia Periwinkle permission to dock, Laverna’s gaze wandered, deliberately over those that had gathered in Krynne’s lounge.

Towering brutes, pestilent horrors, riddled with rot. Colossal astartes, a porcelain beauty, and some kind of...gunslinger?

She turned her attention back to Euromulus Kryne.

Once the merchant had pulled his lips away from the hand of the lithe one who had introduced herself as Lady Kotys, he addressed the room.

“I thank you all for answering my summons,” he began, pulling himself up onto his feet “I am glad that word managed to reach you all…”

Kryne cast a quick glance over to the putrid goliath, and its noxious pet.

“One way, or another.”

Kryne strode into the center of the room, and within seconds Laverna had slid off of the sette, and was standing by his side.

“My intention in coming to Skubberrima, as I’m sure you are all aware, is to recover an artifact of substantial value: the Gauntlet of Myreena. Help me to claim this prize, and you shall each be rewarded with a bountiful trove of souls, to do with as you see fit. My fleet is home to innumerable slaves, and you shall all be given your pick.”

Kryne took another step forwards, with Laverna moving softly behind him.

“I have a contact on the surface, who is awaiting you arrival. Laverna will be in-charge of getting you to them. Aid me in this task, and you will come to find that there was never a more beneficial ally than Euromulus Kryne.”

---

Rhaat and Rhaad crouched in the darkness, peering up at the night sky above.

All around them, the charred bones of Skubberima littered the wasteland. Even now, these many years after the bloody battle between Queen Myreena and King Eliphane, the planet ached from those old wounds.

Squinting through his telescope, Rhaat spotted a speck of light, darting through the blackness of the heavens.

“Fresh meat,” Rhaat grinned, turning to Rhaad “tell the family to fire.”

---

Laverna and the coterie were bundled into one of Kryne’s many shuttlecrafts, as it sped towards Gossameter, a trading outpost, which had sprung up out of the ruins of the ravaged city of the same name.

She had serious reservations about trying to control a rabble of warriors so varied, and utterly psychotic in nature, but she was counting on their love of riches and extended slaughter outweighing their want of quick, immediate bloodshed.

To begin with, all she had to do was guide them through New Gossameter, to Kryne’s contact. So long as she could keep them from straying into the perilous, mutant-ridden ruins of the Old City, they should be fine.

Suddenly, a world sundering blast rocked the shuttlecraft.

Laverna yelped in shock, as she was flung across the cramped metal container. She smashed into the wall, her head spinning, and the wind knocked out of her.

The shuttlecraft was spiraling round, and round, and round, as emergency sirens screeched in her ears.

“What in the warp..?!” she wheezed, gasping for breath.

---

Rhaat and Rhaad giggled with perverse glee, watching the smoldering speck veer off course, and plummet down towards them.

“Come to us, pretty one,” Rhaad tittered, hunched down behind a cracked pillar “it's time to feast.”

The next figure to walk into the room filled Kotys not with horror or disgust, but with pure perverted interest. The monster of a man, muscle and mutated flesh, barely even human, but instead looking more xenos than homo... She had heard about him. Heard much about him and the blood she spilled. Her long tongue slipped out into the air, tasting it, and then slowly, almost sensually licking her lips. he was beyond dangerous, beyond powerful, possibly even more powerful than the astartes standing in this room, but by the Prince was he a sight to see.

Of course, sadly but sadly was what she had learned and what she could see merely from looking at him. That awful triangular mark across his chest, one that spoke of how he cared for nothing but blood and death and violence, with no respect for the pleasure of pain and the satisfaction in each slice... And even less care for other things. Yet... Well, she could still want him, working for her, on top of her... She smacked her lips once her tongue had retracted, wondering if he had noticed her lingering gaze, before finally turning back to their host.

They were to retrive an artifact, to be repaid in plunder and in slaves. Her gaze flitted back to the crowd of owned souls in the room, many wide-eyed at the display of so many chaos worshippers and mutations around them, and she could feel a little bubble of glee well up in her chest. There was to be no faliure in this quest. Absolute perfection only.

She would take a seat and slouch comfortably as the craft began to make its way down to the surface. Twirling her cane in her hand, her eyes would find themselves drawn to a figure whose exploits preceeded them. Princess Natalia- the wannabe Pirate Queen. Standing up, she was about to introduce herself to the woman when the ship they were in was rocked by a shuddering explosion. Her frail figure was sent flying across the craft, dangerously close to the disgusting slug of the nurgulite, and her cane was sent flying out of her hand, clattering into the wall. At the last moment she managed to twist her body so that she wasn't shattered upon contact with the side, but still felt the wind knocked out of her as she was brought to an unexpected stop by the wall.

Rolling to the floor, hacking up phlegm and gasping to replace the air that had been knocked out of her lungs, she would scramble for her weapon, praying that the hull integrity of the ship would hold. She had no vaccum-safe equipment on her- if there was going to be no air, things were going to get difficult.

After Laszlo's appearance, Castigus didn't right away get his chance. Krynne seemed to deal with some sort of communique, before immediately after an Ogryn - clearly a Khornate of some sort - entered the scene. What with the ripper gun, the horns, and the cry that was either a demand or a praise of blood and skulls it was clear he was a Khornate. Well, another sack of muscle was nothing to be scoffed at. Then a man of some sort of frontier world came in, who after giving him a quick glance he dismissed for the most part. Just a grunt, he'd have to keep an eye out for him since he'd be far wiser than either of the ogryns and would certainly have a higher potency for deviousness but there was nothing about the gunslinger to say he'd be either a great asset or obstacle to the Alpha Legionnaire.

At last Castigus had his chance, and he spoke up. It was a short and quick introduction, as was expected. The Legionnaire knew that all this lack of bloodshed was taxing on the Night Lord. Nostroman Astartes were born to kill. It was their nature and to deny it was as cruel as any sort of torture. But Laszlo reasoned internally that this was necessary, and his cousin's abstinence from slaughter would soon be rewarded with great slaughter. After all, he didn't expect someone like Eromulus to be actually creative enough to assign anything beyond that to the Marines, even if Slaaneshis pretended to be great patrons of the arts.

Another figure followed, a woman who was clearly a Slaaneshi of some sort. He gave her a quick glance, and much as the gunslinger dismissed her. Of course the modifications in his head did their work making a more handsome visage under his helmet lest he need to ask something of the mortal woman, but he wasn't very sure he'd ever find his work parallel to her's and it was unlikely or impossible he'd get a chance to ask her of her services. Not that he'd want to, given the nature of anyone particularly devoted to any Chaos God save Khorne. Khorne in his simple, violent villainy was reliable and almost unchaotic in nature.

Almost on cue of his thoughts regarding Khorne, what he initially thought to be a Daemon stepped in. But... something was off about the bull headed beast. Slowly but surely the realization of what was before him dawned, and a single pulse of laughter came from him accompanied by a heave of his shoulders. He looked back to Castigus, and the fact his monstrous comrade was still somewhat taller if not exactly larger than the Khornate mutant Marine.

Regardless, it was time for work. The promise of slaves was not very enticing, the Alpha Legionnaire had no need for a few fleshbags that he wouldn't be able to so simply mould into operatives. At least, not quickly enough for the investment to not be easier to have been made from scratch. However, after this job, he imagined that Eromulus Krynne would indeed make for a potent ally. He followed Laverna into the shuttle, standing by his Brother with his combi-bolter at the ready.

He faintly listened to whatever chatter might emanate from the degenerates just in case it would come in useful in the future. But that was quite quickly interrupted. The ship came into some sort of turbulence which (given the realm they were in) was most likely anti-aircraft fire. The mortals flew, stumbling and striking the walls of the shuttle which elicited a hearty laugh from the Space Marine. In truth there was nothing humourous about the situation but the laughter was made to put all the airborne fools in their place. It was to make them feel small, to to make them feel insignificant and demeaned.

But in spite of this, the situation had to be saved. For starters, the people within the shuttle needed their pilot back. As though picking up a toy he lifted Laverna by a shoulder and then he placed her back into her seat and used a hand to brace her still to make sure no AA fire would again get her out of place.

"Get us down. Now. We'll do the job and then get vengeance on whoever did this." Laszlo said.

The gathering of various chaos adherents did not bode well for the success of the entire endeavor. Truthfully it made Castigus sick to his stomach and his glands reacted accordingly. The taste of acid in his mouth made him feel the need to spit. Instead, he swallowed it neatly. Another time. His stomach would reabsorb the incredibly potent saliva. Blessings of the Nighthaunter few though they were. His Legions gene-seed was pure.

The addition of three more mercenaries made him shift from disinterest to annoyance before finally settling on downright disgust as the Khornate made his entrance. It was everything his Legion hated in one living being. The itch to put his hand back on the blackout grenade and gun the chain axe was nigh irresistible. Something about Laszlo’s shift, however, made him stop. The Alpha Legion marine was scheming. Castigus wasn’t exactly sure how he knew it and frankly with their kind it really never stopped but something about his bearing told him new calculations were occurring in his Brother’s head. That was enough to quell the urge to dispatch the mutant freak of a creature that had once been Astartes. He wondered vaguely if the creature had been XII legion. It wouldn’t surprise him to find out that was the case. They had never been a stable legion. Which was rich coming from him. At least Angron had grown up learning from humans as opposed to simply terrorizing and occasionally eating them. Then again none of them had altered Xenos technology hardwired into their brains so, in the end, he supposed it was an even comparison. Never mind the fact that by the time he was 10 he’d perfected the art of murder. After losing his older brothers it had been up to him to keep his sister out of trouble. Thankfully after the first time, it had become increasingly easy.

Shaking free of the memory he shifted in the shadows on the edge of the room. It was clear their host had a plan and almost on cue he announced they were being sent to collect some sort of relic from the surface of the hell hole they were in high orbit above. Mortals. Always chasing after legends to increase their fame. As though it made a difference. This one would die and be forgotten like so many others. Billions had been ground to meat by the inexorable tide of blood and steel that drowned the galaxy and the eye of terror since the siege of Holy Terra. This one wasn’t special. When he offered them slaves Castigus nearly shot the man.

---

The shuttle left much to be desired. Castigus was used to deploying from low orbit or the back of a Thunderhawk and insane speeds. This was neither of those things. The Nightraptor stood idly in the back of the shuttle wondering why in the name of the Primarchs they had taken up with these fools when suddenly things got interesting. Laverna went sailing across the interior of the shuttle and it sent everything into a lurch. It took Castigus a few stumbling steps before he finally mag-locked his boots to the decking. Laszlo caught the flying bodyguard and crammed her back into the command throne. Part of him half expected one of the mortals to say that absurd phrase that marked them as being born after the Heresy. He smirked inside his helm as a series of ruins blinked to life inside his helmet’s display. ”Throne of the God-Emperor”. It didn’t happen immediately so no need to expend any of his precious bolt shells. Listening to Laszlo tell the mortal woman to land the craft he finally cackled aloud over his vox grill. It was a strange sound amplified by the helm and the depth of his astartes enhanced form. “Don’t bother landing us just get me close.” Blink-clicking the ruin in the upper left corner of his helmet’s display he watched the readouts for his jump pack spool up. The machine spirit was ready for war and the crews mechanicum servitors had provided the necessary fuel for it. With plodding steps, he made his way towards the shuttle’s doorway. Really he just needed to clear the shuttle so hopefully the mortal could get the damn ship to stop spinning.

Turning to look he braced by the door and in Nostroman, over the vox link between him and his brother, vocalized “In Midnight Clad”. With that, he waited for the signal they were close enough for him to jump.

As the click of a sheath echoed through the chamber, Jake's hand immediately hovered one of his pistol; ready to draw and fire at whatever threat bared its teeth in his direction. Even before his eyes locked on the towering Night Lord Astarte, Jake knew that there would be nothing he could do to stop the space marine should they decide to go on a rampage. Cautiously, he relaxed his stance once more as the newest seemingly 'normal' human joined the soiree; exchanging pleasantries with Krynne and his bodyguard. Regardless of how he steeled his nerves, nothing could have prepared him for the thing that came in next....

During his time on the frontier, Jake had seen many a beast; of every shape and size... It wasn't the horns, the colossal size, nor the imposing presence that radiated from the man-turned-beast... But its eyes.  The black beads of the bloodthirsty monster gleamed with the light of a fierce intellect, one that such a creature should not possess.  Shifting his weight uncomfortably, he did his best to ignore the chill settling into his bones as he focused on his employer.

Jake scoffed; the burning cherry of his cigar glowing brightly, as Krynne revealed that the payment for this little endeavor would be nothing more than owned souls. "The fuck kind of use would I have for slaves???" the wrangler hissed under his breath, his rough voice hot with frustration. With a deep breath, he managed to calm his bubbling temper, he wasnt doing this for money, rewards, or lavish treatment-- he sought nothing apart from the favor of the dark gods, and the powers that came with such recognition. Such a quest for The Gauntlet of Myreena would be an undoubtedly strong start, and so, Jake raised no issue with the current terms of the mission.

No sooner than when the group embarked onto the landing shuttle, were they joined by what Jake surmised was yet another Slaaneshi whore. However, before he could listen in on who this seemingly important newcomer was, an explosion rocked the shuttle! "Dammit!" he cursed as he was thrown back into a wall, barely managing to catch himself. Of course the fucking black legionnaire had to fucking laugh. As he tried to glare angrily at the posthuman, another violent shake of the craft bashed Jake's face against the wall, breaking his nose with a *crunch*. Peeling himself away from the wall, Jake reached up and cracked his nose back into place with a low, angry growl. Whoever did this, was asking for the ass-whooping of a lifetime.

Inevitable is a strong word. When the spindling lines of fate coalesce into one immutable path. The anathema of Chaos and all its glorious mind-bending change.

Yet still, some fates are inevitable. No amount of effort could save the shuttle once the missile had struck home, the damage done and the craft sent into a cataclysmic dance through the sky from which it could not recover. The time between the initial strike and the impact providing those on board simply with time to prepare themselves for the coming impact.

The small voidcraft crashed into the archaic ruins of the old city as a comet of smoke, fire and metal. A hab block older than the civil war which had doomed the planet practically collapsed into dust as the shuttle shot through it, pulling back the craft's momentum by only a fraction. A moment later, and the shuttle struck the 'ground' level before ploughing through, shuddering through a ravine of man made construction and into the depths of what had been the Old City's lower levels.

To call it a rough ride would be something of an understatement, but the crew compartments remained intact, preventing the would be treasure hunters from immediate conflagration. As the emergency systems finally wrenched the exits open, a new threat soon began to materialise. A chittering, swarming movement in the dark, only the barest of light reaching down into this new underdark. A laughter of excitement broke out among the mutants gathering towards the downed craft and it was not long before the boldest of their number began to swarm towards the craft. Food and loot for the impoverished hordes.

As the tide of violent, unwashed, death approached the stricken craft and the survivors of the crash, a new noise began to echo over the growls and whoops of the approaching mutants. The building scream of jets bounced from shattered wall to shattered wall. Even to the untrained ear the noise was distinct, clearly artificial yet of a purity of purpose the engineering of the Imperium could not match. Terror shuddering across the air.

With a concussive wave of displaced force, a pair of jetbikes burst into the cavernous space of this particular branch of the Old City. Bathed in darkness, they skimmed across the tide of mutants. The bikes banked once, around the shattered shuttle, before pulling up. A sharp hiss heralded a rain of disk-like motes of light from the new arrivals, and where this rain fell among the crowd of mutated freaks, they fell and died from a thousand bleeding wounds.

It took all of Minos' considerably diminished willpower not to simply lash out at anything and everything within arms reach once they were crammed together inside the bowels of the shuttle craft; every moment seemed like an eternity, his senses perhaps no longer enhanced by the power armour he had once worn but nevertheless he could smell the sweat, hear the heartbeats and feel the gazes of both the Slaaneshi worshipping female and the shadow-clad Astartes boring into him... although both in very different ways.

In truth he thought of little more than endless bloodshed as this carnival of the damned heaved and grunted their various ways into the shuttle, the vehicle moving swiftly from the mothership and off toward the planet, Minos deaf to just about everything until the rocket spiralled up from the surface.

As if on cue he gunned the blades of one of his weapons, having chained them both to thick braces bound about his wrists, keeping both low enough not to saw straight through Jack as he was flung about but causing one hell of a noise. It blended well with the shouts and yells, the steady feeling of a vastly quickened descent, and the sound of adrenaline and blood pounding in his bestial ears.

He even added to the false legionnaires laughter, opening his mouth to give a braying sound of his own, his lips peeling back to expose gums already reddened with his own lifeblood.

How he managed to remain upright on his cloven feet, his curling horns knocking against the roof of the transport as they sped through the ruins of the Old City, was a good question and answered simply by his Astartes physiology.

Eventually the vehicle came to a stop in the lower levels, the filth that made up the under-levels population believing that they had been given fresh meat at last. Oh no, it would turn out to be very tough meat indeed.

“Blood for the Blood God!” Roared the warped World Eater, barging with all his might through the others, nearly crushing some of the mortal combatants in his haste, bouncing off of one of the Ogryns, before he ultimately half-charged half-fell out of the shuttle and into the space beyond, “skulls for the skull throne!”

The Nails bit into his mind, and his chain axes whirred to life in his hands.

This would be good.

Well this had gotten into a larger clusterfuck than the Palace of Pleasure quicker than she could blink. Having recovered from being violently slammed into a wall, and now with her hands on her weapon once more, she would watch as her assorted ‘colleagues’ threw themselves into the fight. Her eyes, warp-tainted as they were, caught a glimpse of shapes moving through the sky, and then mutants would fall like wheat to the scythe. They had unexpected allies it seemed.

Kotys would instinctively duck as the lumbering figure of Minos quite literally bulldozed out into the lines of the foe, his bellowed words causing an almost primal shudder to run through her spine. Although her lungs were significantly smaller, she would let out a cry of her own, the words piercing the air.

”INTO THE PRINCE’S PERFECTION!” As she spoke, she would flick her wrist out, her walking cane’s hard casing collapsing up into a hilt and unveiling a long, slender blade. She would run the edge of it along the back of her hand, watching as crimson welled up and pain blossomed through her system. Yes... This would be perfect.

Another twist of the wrist and the blade would light up with sparks. Even she knew that ‘trialling’ this on herself would be foolish, instead giving the weapon it’s final prod, the seemingly solid form of the weapon falling apart into a lethal tangle of electrified, murderously sharp wire.

She moved into the battle with a graceful sprint. Her first foe came at her, a putrid wretch more mutant than man, ugly, misshapen and malformed. She would flick her arm out almost casually, the wire spinning towards him, near invisible in the darkness. The brute came at her, hacking wildly with a rusted and pitted blade but she moved with litheness and grace, twisting out of the way and bringing her arm down... and with it the lethal line.

With a pirouette that would make any pleasure world dancer proud she would weave the wire around her foe, and then with one action snap the net around him. He stiffened, the electricity coursing through the metal keeping him still so that she could finish him more leisurely.

The same twist of her wrist that had turned her weapon into its current lethal spool could also condense it back into a sword, and that was exactly what she did, the motor in the hilt whirring as it encountered resistance. Lines of blood appeared across the wretch’s body as the metal bit in, and then with a last effort the tangled ends brought themselves together.

Blood spurted out, flesh, muscle and bone all having been torn through, and Kotys would lick her lips, forked tongue scooping up lashings of crimson. As if to bring her out of her reverie at having done such a good job, she would narrowly avoid being trampled by Minos’ huge form, his swinging arms cleaving through six in the time it had taken her to do one.

At least hers had been a beautiful kill.

“FRAK!”

Laverna crouched for cover in the warped, smoking carcass of the shuttlecraft. Autogun fire, and las beams, roared all around her, as she stooped down behind a wall of twisted metal, and readied herself for combat.

“FEAST ON THEIR FLESH! GUZZLE THEIR BLOOD!”

Mutants, misshapen and deformed, were pouring over a hellscape of bombed-out rubble, and streaming down on the shuttlecraft’s felled corpse.

A furious blast of Laverna’s rifle sent glitter shells soaring through the air, and smashing into an approaching gang of mutant bandits.

Those who weren’t slaughtered by the initial burst staggered to their knees, their brains wracked with visions so horrific that they defied articulation through language. Every cell in their sickly bodies was gripped with heinous terror, rendering them inoperative.

It wasn’t long before the thundering of gunfire ripped those damned souls to tatters.

Bullets and lasers filled the sky. Gnarled chunks of metal littered the ground. Blood and fire soaked the earth.

“DEATH TO THE SPACE WALKERS! BATHE IN THEIR SUFFERING!”

An enormous, lumbering form came looming out of the horde of charging mutants. This goliath towered above even the renegade astartes, with its cracked grey flesh, and numerous, thrashing limbs. Scraps of metal plate were fastened over its gargantuan form, and an abundance of deep, black eyes were dotted across its monstrous face.

In two of its arms were crude, makeshift blades. In the others, it clutched an enormous heavy stubber, with a lance-like set of barrels, which spewed fourth a storm of shrieking shells.

“YOU’VE COME TO THE WRONG FRAKING PLANET, SPACE WALKERS!” the beast bellowed “ONLY DEATH AWAITS YOU!”

Although her whipblade was the most beautiful of the ways that she killed, sometimes it came necessary to prioritise the expedience of death over the majesty of it. With her weapon a sword once more she would give it a firm flick, the viscera acquired from the death of the salsafied fellow below her splattering off to the ground. Driving the end of her weapon into the dirt, electricity still cracking from it, she would reach inside her clothing and fiddle briefly with the straps of a holster, drawing out a magnificent handcannon from its deapths. Black, with intricately woven golden lines and curves and a marvellously rich wooden finish, she would half-break the top of the gun, load a clip into its mechanism and then snap it shut.

Her eyes would look through the gloom and she would take up a firing stance, her legs planted firmly into the ground, her shoulders square and her arm raised up, one hand drawing a dagger from a sheath at her back whilst the other raised her gun to eye level. She sighted a foe. Breathed out, breathed in. "Five." She would breathe, and as she did so squeeze the trigger, one bullet cracking out of the muzzle of her gun, the lick of flame from the end of it spelling death through clean brutality. Her wrist ached slightly, but the calibre of the bullet had left a disgustingly mince-like crater in the head of her foe.

She would turn to the next foe. Once again her breathing slowed. She could feel as time itself waited, waited for her to align every aspect, waited for the Prince of Pleasure to smile upon her shot and grace it with Her presence, so that it flew and granted the swiftest, purest oblivion. As jaw fell from cheek and mutant collapsed to the dirt, she would smile. Two bullets and two deaths by her hand. Four more for perfection.

'Perfection' would not be attained today however. As she went to fire again she heard a roar from her side, and, swinging her gun around, practically leapt out of her skin. Some wretch had managed to sneak up on her, and his screeching, clearly struggling to function chainblade came dangerously close to marring her skin. Taking a step back she would swing out with her blade, but her foe was apparently a little faster than the previous one she had faced, the spinning teeth of his own weapon coming down to meet (and then promptly eat through) her knife. Bringing her handcannon down towards her waist she would fire, the shot entering the creature's gut, then lash out with her leg. Even injured her foe still stood, and her leg barely seemed to effect him. Throwing her body out of the way she would barely avoid a retaliatory swipe, but as her opponent moved to where she should have been, she fired another shot.

Her opponent howled in agony as splinters of bone and viscera splattered out from his knee. His chainblade spluttered out as it hit the ground and furiously she would storm to where he lay, one hand dragging him towards where her cracking, razor-sharp blade still stood impaled into the ground. Even as her opponent writhed and bit and scratched she would heave him over, stamping on his face and then bringing the hilt of her sword down as if she was a chef slicing herbs.

With her vorpal blade parting head from neck she would look up, satisfaction vanishing from her face as yet another foe came into view, this one clearly made of sterner stuff than the four left dead by her hand. Reluctantly she would draw her blade, hunkering behind a pile of rubble as she waited for those far stronger in sword than she to strike the first few blows.

Laszlo chuckled as his Brother said not to land, it seemed in spite of everything that they wouldn't get much of a choice for it appeared to crash would be their fate. He braced himself as the vessel struck ground, the doors opening and the mutant Khornate wasting no time in going into the fray. Wrapping himself in his cameleoline he used the thunderous exit of his strange "comrade" the Alpha Legionnaire hopped out from the side using the bountiful shadows for cover.

He'd served long enough in the eternal war to know the sound of the vile machinery of the aeldari, and he knew to watch for it. Just because it seemed in a strafe they killed many of the mutants, it did not mean they wouldn't try for the motley crew. Looking through the sights of his combi-bolter he scanned the scene, counting foes and the progress of his colleagues.

The little aide of Eromulus dispatched many of the lesser foes, as did the Slaaneshi mortal. He left his shadows, giving a hearty laugh at the theatrics of the mortals, his eyes coming upon a true target themselves. Yes, this was what he would be paid for. The Marine drew the sword at his hip, walking confidently towards the towering beast. Truth is he wasn't sure he could take it by himself: though he had much doubt in the sophistication in the biology and cybernetic skills of the mutants, the thing was really, really big.

For now he held his sword by the ricasso pommel upwards in one hand, a calculating stare upon the foe he'd take on. Well, he reasoned, if he couldn't kill it then he'd get support from the other creatures he was working with and if not then he'd run. Though the thing was big, he reckoned he could at least outrun it and the low velocity stub bullets it spat.

A mutant ran at him, a surprisingly good chainsword in hand swiping at his breast. With his free hand he spun his arm over-head to break the grip the foe had on the implement and flatten its head in one solid motion. "The day shall not save them." He announced, pushing his vox-grille to them limits of it's noise, his voice modulated to hold a very deep and raspy sound with just a hint of Cthonian accent upon his voice.

Seeing the unfortunate fate of Laszlo's first assailant a baker's dozen of the raiders charged the Space Marine at once, the warrior squatting with one foot before swiping the other left to right bringing most of the enemies to the ground. But one with tentacles for feet stayed upright, but a power armoured elbow cratered his face shortly after. Walking over the stricken dregs with nasty cracks and squelches of flesh and bone he continued. "And the Night belongs to me." He was now face to face with the colossal abomination, finally turning his blade before giving it a light flourish. He took a stance with both hands on the blade, largely ignoring the actions of the many mutants around him instead focusing on whatever move the monster would take. Perhaps a blast of melta to a cluster of eyes, then leg it? The Legionnaire pondered.